Kindred Folk -- Idle Dreamings

Like honey is the sleep of the untouched
We are not untouched

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HALF A WEEK AFTER SIDHE

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Stars swirled around Fenn. Not merely a sky above, but a sky below him as well. No ground was to be found. There was an enjoyable aspect to the weightlessness. One could spin around forever, and ever, and ever. The little fae floated, mildly confused, and stared around at the twinkles scattered like dewdrops through the void of purple-blue, green, and black. A sleepy part of him wanted to reach out and touch the shinies. Another (stronger) part rubbed his eyes, and realized very suddenly that this couldn't be real. This was a dream. And if he had become this clear-headed in a dream, this abruptly, someone was visiting. Fenn twisted around through the emptiness to meet his uninvited guest.

As he half-expected, it was her.

The scaled woman with two azure serpents for heads floated a few feet away, red robes trailing gracefully into the void. Her feathery black-silver mane floated around her in a similarly peaceful fashion. Both smiling heads bore masks that absorbed and reflected the glittering starlight.

“Good evening, Pigwidgeon,” Chancellor Banrion greeted him in her throaty purr. There was a faint echo to her words, for she spoke with two voices of the same mind.

He nodded in return. Perhaps it was just him, but Banrion seemed younger in this dream than she had in person. Her figure and her mane were fuller, of that he was certain, and her scales seemed more taut. Fenn frowned and brushed a loose flick of hair back from his eyes. Well, it was a dream after all. He could probably alter his appearance too, if he wanted.

<Hi. So, this is a thing we do now, right? Are you going to start checking in me every night or..?>

She shrugged. “Not every night. But, I shall visit often.”

<What do you plan to do with me? When you’re visiting my dreams, I mean. Why bother?> he asked, perplexed, as he gathered his knees up toward his chest.

Four bright crimson eyes flashed in a way that the boy could only think to describe as wicked. Thankfully, the wicked intent did not seem to be directed at him — Banrion’s gaze went off into the distance, as if she were thinking of something else. “Communication, my Pigwidgeon. This is the best method to quickly deliver you my requests. It is a fairly secure method too. In any case, I contacted you during this sleep for a very important reason. There is vital information I would like you to gather for me in the immediate future. How much do you know about the governments of the lower lands?” She cut Fenn off before he could ask what the lower lands were. “The mortal realm. Althanas. Alerar, Corone, so on and so forth, the ruling lands of Althanas. Salvar especially interests me.”

Well, Fenn hadn’t exactly looked at any books on government, not at any point in time, since the subject had always struck him as a bit boring. <I don’t have much to tell you…> he said bashfully, biting at a hangnail. Besides, there had been too much avid adventuring lately to bother with unrelated studies.

The Chancellor shook her heads, her mane swishing around her as if underwater. “No matter. Find out as much as you can, and we will work our way up from there.”

For a moment, Fenn simply drifted through space and pondered her request. Normally, when people asked something of him, it was to steal something. Research was a new request entirely. It came with its own questions. His ears flicked back, a spark of uncertainty stirring him to motion.

<So, why do you need to know about Althanas?>

“Implementing a large-scale plan is as infuriating as herding geese. Allies become enemies, enemies become allies. Variables change each minute, forces one cannot possibly foresee leap out of shadow at the most unfortunate times, and more complicated plans have more opportunities to go desperately wrong. As such, I want to know a bit about how these geese think before I try to shoo them in the right direction,” Banrion told him with two dismissive sighs. “Do you understand?”

<Maybe I would if I actually knew what geese you were talking about,> he huffed, sour-faced, <or what you’re planning. You didn’t even answer my question!>

The Chancellor turned her gaze to the stars. “Pigwidgeon, I shall unveil my intentions when the proper opportunity arises. I know this does not please you. But please, have a little faith in me. Right now, the more you know, the more complicated this is for me.”

<Fine,> he pouted. <But soon as you can, tell me. If I’m gonna do stuff for you, I want to know the why.>

She chuckled. It frustrated Fenn, sending a grey flush fluttering to his cheeks; he wondered if she was taking his request seriously. “Of course, my pigwidgeon. Merry meet, merry part, and may we merry meet again.”

The elder fae tapped a green stone bracelet on her wrists. She winked out of sight in a flicker of light green -- out of the dream entirely. Clarity started to slip away in her absence. That was something new- wait. What… what had just happened? Fenn blinked and stared out into space. Something had happened. He had the feeling he’d remember it when he… when… Oh! Shiny! Were those sky-twinkles tangible? Unthinkingly, the boy reached out to grab for them. As he did, the stars flickered, nebulas winking out like candles in a stiff breeze.

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A FEW DREAMS LATER

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“Pigwidgeon…”

Fenn glanced up from the clear waves, where schools of triangular fish darted and flashed, nibbling playfully at him every so often. He stood waist-deep in warm sea water. Water didn’t have to freeze in dreams. Sand was wonderfully squishy, but not gritty-sticky.

Dreams could be fantastic.

“Pigwidgeon,” Banrion repeated with a sigh, trying to solidify his attention. She looked a bit out of place on a beach, with her heavy robes, and her scales glittering in the sun. “I came to remind you to pursue the research I am in need of. You get distracted most easily.”

A sheepish smile struck him. He conceded that point, as a part of him really did want to go back to playing with these pretty, darting fish.

“Also,” she said, steepling her fingers together. “I request your permission for something. Would you mind if started going through some of your memories?”

Blinking against the sunlight, Fenn gave her an uneasy look.

“I have no nefarious intentions with this. Merely, I wish to see if your experiences of Althanas will tell me anything important about the land, or if you permit, yourself,” she explained, her heads tilting side to side as she did so. She seemed a touch reluctant about this. “I will try to not intrude on anything too personal if I come across such things. Is that reassuring?”

With a distracted nod, the little puck went back to watching the fishes twirl about his fingers and toes. Sure, he supposed. He couldn’t see any bad things she could do with his memories. Perhaps that was shortsighted. Perhaps, it was vain. Though Fenn was pretty sure he had done a lot of bad things in the past, he was also certain that they were mainly instances of petty thievery and spectacular foolishness. How could he be threatened by things he was proud of?

Banrion smiled with both heads, but Fenn was no longer paying attention. “Your agreement is appreciated. I’ll leave you to your slumber then. Merry part, my Pigwidgeon.”

With that, the Chancellor was gone. He didn’t watch her fade away, but he did feel it. He felt something else too, something shift and give in the world around him. The sand and water seemed to melt together and drip into the sky, as if they had given up on existing. Fenn watched slack-jawed as bubbles of sandy water and soggy silt floated away.

Damn. There went all the shiny little fishes, slipping through his fingers, winking out of sight.

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A FEW MORE DREAMS LATER

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Fenn was in Sidhe this time.

It always looked a little as if someone had taken Althanas and flipped it on its head. Or at least, that was how Fenn saw it. He squished his toes in the blue-white snow, staring up at the frothy green sky above. Where was Sidhe exactly? Above Althanas, below, neither?

Across the untouched field of cold, fluffy snow, there was something a little less familiar. Ice and pine yielded to a gritty gravel, to jutting boulders. The speckled grey rock lead directly up to a sharp drop-off. Curious, Fenn wandered over for a better look, walking slowly over the gravel to spare his feet a bit. A long ways down, the cliffside melted into an inky blackness. When he leaned over the edge for a better look, a stale breeze washed up over him. It smelled… old. Not old-people old, but as if something ancient in the dark was gathering dust as it breathed in and out. He knew that this was a dream. He wouldn’t die if he fell in. Right? All the same, an unfamiliar dread filled him. This wasn’t a good place.

Banrion was already somewhere in the dream; if he was clearheaded enough to know it was a dream, and to question the choice of landscape, she had to be. He wasn’t sure whether he himself had molded this strangeness, or whether Banrion had possibly inserted it. How much agency she had over his mind, Fenn didn’t know.

<Banri?>

“I am here, my child,” she spoke up from behind.

Her voices reassured him; at least, he wasn’t alone with this gaping hole of black. Like an open wound. <What’s up with this dream?> he asked, lowering himself to sit next to the abyss. <I didn’t make it, did I?>

Banrion’s heavy footsteps were quieted by the snow and fir needles. She took a seat next to him, shaking her head. “This is mine. Dreamwalking is a tricky art. Memories from one mind can bleed over into another, given that they have interacted before. Your typical state of being is highly permeable, very open. I find that an eagerness to learn and explore makes one more receptive of outside forces — a potential vulnerability. Then again, one does not know how you react to hostile forces. Willpower and perception are powerful factors in the realm of dreams.”

Daintily, the Chancellor picked up a stray pebble and dropped it over the edge. It took a moment for it to wink out of sight.

Sigh. “If you were wondering, this is-”

<The chasm,> Fenn concluded for her. Merely peering into its depths made him feel tired and dizzy. <I remember Morrighna threatening me with it; they toss people in here then? I can’t see the bottom. Where does it go?>

Banrion’s heads dipped down to gaze on the chasm’s hollow. “Down, pigwidgeon.”

Uneasily, the boy scooted a half-foot back from the edge.

They briefly basked in the serenity surrounded the drop-off. Except for the wind, all was still. For a moment, Fenn could close his eyes and just listen to the background noise; animals moving, the wind rustling the branches. It had surprising clarity for a dream. Some creature warbled an unfamiliar cadence somewhere amid the leafy blue canopy. He wondered what it was. When he opened his eyes again, Fenn found Banrion staring into the abyss with an unusual expression. Pinched lips, half-lidded gaze, mane pressing flat to the back of her neck.

<You look sad.>

She startled out of her reverie, blinking a few times. “Sad? No, pigwidgeon. I am merely tired. Extremely tired.”

<Well, why’s that?> he huffed. <You should be sleeping like me if you’re tired!>

“Were it that I could! I only managed to snatch his half-hour to check in on you.”

A celebration? If that didn’t pique Fenn’s interest, what could? He liked parties. His ears pricked up, and a slight smile widened across his face. <What’re you celebrating?>

“Nothing in particular. It apparently ‘seemed about time’ for another one, according to our dear Regent.” Both of the Chancellor’s delicate sets of teeth were bared in distaste. “It is utterly ridiculous. Before Morrighna, our celebrations were far more bearable, days of self-reflection and relative tranquility towards one another rather than blind indulgence. They were occasional. They had meaning. Now, well, we scrape the bottom of the barrel of belief for something we can half-heartedly claim is worth a Regent’s revel.”

<Well, dancing is really fun. I can see why they would want to do it so much,> Fenn said, shrugging.

“Such things would be all in good taste, yes, if we did not do them every rotted week!” Banrion seethed. “They lose their luster when they go from a rare treat to a constant headache in the back of my mind. Morrighna likes to leave the bulk of the planning to Sciathan and myself; Banrion, be a dear and find some musicians. Banrion, where is the wine? By my own damn divinity, she grates on me.” Distressed, the Chancellor ran a claw through her mane. “I believe she is even giving me grey feathers. And for what is this trifling? To waste ourselves and our resources on petty, meaningless celebration? If we could merely give our court some focus, we could do great things, I know it. Our dear, useless Regent is holding us back for her own silly sense of hedonistic desire.”

She looked so frustrated that moment, her brows furrowed and mouths caught in a bladed snarl. Hesitantly, Fenn found himself reaching out to pat her reassuringly on the shoulder, leaving a dapple of frost on her cloak.

Just as quickly as it came, Banrion’s anger drained away, leaving nothing but the tiredness again. Her hard crimson gaze melted. “My apologies. I regret burdening you with my own complaints. It is not a matter for you to worry about, child.”

Fenn beamed. <I don't mind. At least it’s not like I have to deal with Morrighna myself, right?>

He’d be happy never running into the little banshee again, to be honest. Just hearing about her made his spine shivery.

“Correct,” Banrion replied — yet with an odd hesitating lilt. Her mouths were tight with concern. “Fennik, I must leave now. You are waking. Merry meet, merry part, and may we merry meet again.”

<Bye,> he murmured back.

Banrion flickered out, and very suddenly, the dream began to fall apart. Fenn gasped as the gravel and rock beneath him gave way to empty air. There was nothing to grab, nothing to halt his descent into nowhere — anywhere he looked, the world was crumbling inward beside him. It was as if the memory of the abyss had swallowed the dream’s world whole.

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A FEW MONTHS AFTER SIDHE, PROBABLY

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It was kind of like a tea party, if one was allowed to host a tea party in a library-ballroom sort of place.

Specifically, it was a ballroom-like space, decked out in shelf after shelf of books, centered by a table of tea-party implements. Fenn was pretty sure his mind had cobbled the place together out of different places he’d been to before. The oaky shelves seemed as if they had been pulled straight out of the Tarot library. And the floor — glassy, smooth ice. It reminded him distinctly of his time in Sidhe.

Banrion rolled with it. While her herald explored this amalgamation destination of his own accidental making, she waited patiently at the tea-table and sipped her brew. Or, one of her heads did. The other head grumbled quiet, polite complaints about the selection of drink and its taste.

Fenn hadn’t known they could act that independently.

There were wayward books lying in piles against the shelving, which would be a damn shame in a real library. The little fae stopped to look at these piles more often than the ones actually on the shelves. Usually, books in dreams were intangible somehow; impossible to read. They were blank, the text swam on the page, the contents of the book change every time one looks away; so on and so forth. The typical shifty stuff. Fenn thought that perhaps the books in his dream would be this way — and most of them were. Yet, several of them were surprisingly legible.

They weren’t written in Tradespeak, but in the swirly-foreign alphabet the fae used. Sidhein was one word for it. There were other words for it too, as it always seemed to be for the fae. Banrion had taught him the letters and some words in some of their previous shared dreams. It was a struggle to read.

Still he got the general gist of the books.

One stately black tome held page after page of decree and document on… well, it seemed to be the running of the Winter Court. Trade deals, pacts between neighboring Courts, defining the borders of territories, balancing some ill-defined pool of gold, and even a few reminders about paying the musicians for an event. All of anything he could actually understand was stale and dryly-worded — even the bits discussing executions, oath-breakers, and murder! Fenn didn’t quite get why running shit had to be so boring. It seemed like a really frustrating way to live life. He was glad that he himself just kind of lived outside that bullshit.

Banrion didn’t though. Fenn stopped and shut the book, frowning. This was probably stuff pulled out of her head.

One of the legible books thankfully was not boring governing stuff. Unthankfully, it went the opposite direction. This read like a weird children’s fable; patronizing in its simple language, stupid easy to get through. Or, it would have been if it was in a language the young puck had a full grasp of. The fact that it was as vexing as the literal paperwork stung. Fenn mostly skipped through it in his irritation. Some story about a greedy grub, a viper, and a wolf. There was some poison and the wolf died in the end or something.

That book, Fenn tossed aside after he was done inspecting it.

Feeling a little disappointed, he plodded his way back to the tea table, pulled up a chair and plunked his ass down. He grabbed a cup for himself. Tall and green, with little white snowflakes on it. Cute. <Hiya,> he greeted the Chancellor. <Books here are annoying.>

Banrion looked up at him, her mouths curled up in amusement. “Are they now?”

<Your language is being stupid and they say boring stuff,> Fenn mentally mumbled, trying to enjoy his tea. It tasted like… blood? Not human blood, not itchy and metallic. This was sour and sticky. It was the way his own blood tasted whenever he bit his tongue.

“You have much to learn — even if one is not talking about our language. Pigwidgeon, don’t you know? The easiest way to get away with anything frightening is to wrap it up in dullness. And in order to make a vapid thing interesting, one wraps it in eye-catching colors and decor. That’s half the purpose of Glamour…” Banrion laughed, the left head a bit more morosely, and flickered out like a mirage. Fenn stared at the space she had just occupied. Damn. It seemed he was waking up now. But he didn’t want to leave yet! The library ballroom started to fade away into stark white around him. He grabbed for his teacup, but it became as dust in his hands.

Everything faded. Everything except the faint taste of blood.

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AFTER I FOUGHT A KELPIE?

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Fenn was getting pretty used to waking up mid-dream into the space of the dream itself. It did give him a jolt sometimes though. This dream, he stood in a craggy river region sprinkled with mossy-green stones. A waterfall roared in the distance. Its cool spray drifted over everything in a mist borne on breezes fleeing past.

To his left, he saw that Banrion was already present, perched regally on a particularly large rock. Both heads swiveled to follow him, intent on movements. With her posture, it might as well have been a throne.

<Hiya Banri,> Fenn chirped cheerfully, wandering over to her side.

She returned his greeting with a nod. “My pigwidgeon.” Serenely, the Chancellor waved a hand, blue scales glittering in the sunlight. The mist around her thickened and gathered in odd clump. It was as if there were tiny clouds floating around her. Pictures stirred inside the glossy spray. Mostly, they were of him reading, glances and flashes of books he had gone through — a little boredly, he admitted. “I have looked over the information you retrieved for me,” she announced. “You have done well.”

Fenn beamed bashfully. Was that a warm fuzzy feeling in his chest? Perhaps. He was glad that his efforts had been useful, particularly since he hadn’t been all that interested in the subject matter to begin with. The clouds dissipated as the boy took a seat on a rock his size.

<So, I been thinking…>

“You, pigwidgeon, thinking?” The Chancellor laughed, a silvery sound. “What a new phenomenon, I must say.”

Fuckit. Fenn puffed out his cheeks in annoyance, giving her a sharp look. <Hey, no, really! I have a real question. If you know how to enter dreams and stuff, um, do you think you could show me how? It seems neat.>

Instead of mocking him more, Banrion stopped, frowning twofold. Her hands twiddled together as she thought.
“Well, pigwidgeon, I would not call it impossible, but I think you should refrain from trying. At least, for now. You have a rather poor grasp of your own magic. It… runs wild. Have you noticed? Your relentless frost? If you were to delve into dreams in your current state of being, you would not go far. Perhaps, you should visit Sidhe for a few months so I can school you in taming yourself.”

Truth be told, the thought of getting to see that odd land in person again — this time, hopefully without the kidnapping and almost-execution — excited Fenn quite a bit. He rested his chin on his hands and grinned. Yes, very exciting. Yet… <Would Morrighna allow me back in Sidhe? Even just for a little bit, for that?>

“Likely not. But, I dare say that won’t be as great an issue as it seems.”

<Why not?> he asked. <Just what are you planning?>

Slowly, she reached out to ruffle his hair. Fenn did not flinch away. It felt… somewhat friendly. “You are occasionally bright, my pigwidgeon. As I said before, I will show you my intentions, but now is not the time. And,” she said, interrupting Fenn before he could even speak, “before you ask when the time will come, I’ll tell you; it will be sooner than you think.”

<Do you trust me?> Even as he asked the question, he told himself that he wouldn’t feel hurt if she didn’t. Right? He was too independent for that. He didn’t have to trust anyone either! And maybe he shouldn't.

“More than most. I wish that was more of a compliment. One trusts others to act on their own interests, and little else — interests that often do not align with my own. You are almost an exception. Fenn, I will see you tomorrow. Merry meet, merry part-”

<And merry meet again,> he finished for her with a sigh.

The Chancellor reached out to ruffle his hair. He made a face, quietly protesting it. “Good child.”

When she winked out, as she was prone to do, Fenn braced himself for the way the dreamscape was about to fall apart. Surely enough, the world began to crumble into chaos. Fenn squeaked as realized that he was no longer touching the boulder he had just been sitting on -- he was floating, drifting slightly above it as the rock cracked apart into a fine cloud of gritty dust that wouldn’t settle. Gravity itself had abandoned the dream. As he flipped head-over-heels in the air, very nearly becoming tangled in his own cloak, a thought struck him.

“Willpower and perception are powerful factors in the realm of dreams.” Possibly, they were the only factors that mattered here. That was what Banrion had told him some amount of dreams ago, right?

Fenn reached downward with a palm outstretched.

If he could

Maybe

Focus

The dream is not crumbling apart. The dream is holding together.

It… held. Just for a moment, but it held. Froze, really. The boulders ceased their cracking and crumbling. They stopped, as if holding their breath, plumes of dust hesitant to change shade. Fenn stopped floating away.

Even the shifting mists slowed to a perfect standstill.

An unfamiliar exhaustion seeped into Fenn as the frozen moment dragged on. He felt numbed all the way through, a little fuzzy around the edges. This was... probably more than enough practice manipulating dreams for now. Sighing, Fenn let go of the world and went limp, watching it crack and fall out. This crumbling, was it the price of a dreamwalker’s visit? Or was it something else? Everything faded into the embrace of a dully speckled grey-green.

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DEFINITELY AFTER I FOUGHT A KELPIE

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It seared. Everything he touched burned.

Fenn shuddered and drew a pathetic squeak out of his throat. He was surrounded by iron bars and broken floorboards. His wrists and ankles were weighed down with clamped pieces of iron; if he didn’t know better, he would have sworn it was molten. His breath coming out in frightened gasps, Fenn stared at the cuffs around his wrist with watery eyes. The skin deep inside the shackles was so badly burned, he wasn’t sure it should be capable of feeling anymore. Yet it still braized. Was this how it felt to die?

Dulled by his mistreatment, the boy’s green gaze flicked up to meet his blood-soaked direwolf. Blood lightly drained from an empty eyesocket. Daugi’s other eye was closed tight against her own pain. Small spasms wracked her, but only minutely. She was unconscious, or asleep -- hopefully not dying. Not yet. He really did not want her to be dead. He really did not want to be alone.

“An eye for an eye,” the silence parroted in her voice. “An eye for an eye.”

But he didn’t remember what he’d done to deserve this.

~ § ~ § ~ § ~

“Enough.”

~ § ~ § ~ § ~

The scene shifted, skipping back a few paces in time. Daugi melted into the gaps in the floor.

Standing before him now was a crimson-haired woman with a fierce smile, cracks spreading out across her porcelain skin from every orifice. She stood as if she would topple over any moment in a fit of mad laughter. Fenn felt his heart jump up to clog his throat. Every loud click of her heels sent biting chills up his spine, his already too-large eyes widened in fear.

She was Amari, but she was not.

"Do you remember this place?" she asked him, lightly scraping a finger across one of the iron bars. The light screeching noise made his ears flick back in pain. "It's so nostalgic..." She trailed off dreamily, half-grinning as she gestured to the burnt, ruined kitchen around them. The roof had caved in, and where it had not snowed, it was thick with dust. "This place, Fennik… is the place where we met."

Thump. Thump. Fenn’s heart felt like it was about to give out. He tugged against his chains; shaking, curled hands couldn't quite form the gestures he wanted to speak. Why?

Amari reached into the cage, her clawed and blackened fingers gently grazed against the top of Fenn’s head, curling into his mop of sandy blonde hair. He wanted to scream at her touch. It burned worse than the iron, worse than anything else; it was the pain of his heart exploding in his chest. “Don’t you see Fennik? I am going to fix you,” she whispered gleefully, leaning so close he could almost feel her hot on his skin, and all he could do was freeze in terror. Her face flickered and wavered. Black cracks receded, and her eyes glowed a sudden green-gold.

The chains and cage melted away. The unbearable heat vanished.

There was Amari’s hand gently taking him by the chin to stare in his eyes, her mouth half-open in a mixture of bewilderment and concern. The gentle touch withdrew. They sat in a half-dark, somewhat rundown kitchen, on a comfortable pile of torn rags. Something smelled good -- oh. Fenn glanced down in his lap to find a plate of foot. Turkey, roast potatoes, carrots, and bread drizzled with copious amount of thick butter. Amari was a good cook.

Something had been wrong a few moments before, but for some reason, he couldn’t pinpoint what it had been.

“Fenn, right?" Amari asked him gently as she took a bite of her own withered piece of bread. "Do you have parents?”

The little fae’s thoughts flickered to Raster. Yes, he thought, Raster had more or less been his father. It made Fenn lose his appetite a little. He set his remaining food down with unsteady hands and began drawing again. This time, the picture was of a man with a pleasant face and far, far too many rings in his nose. Fenn grinned down at it nostalgically. He pointed to the picture and pointed at himself. Then, he drew a crude sword, his grin fading. Uneasily, he slashed at the picture of the man, straight through the stomach.


Amari probably got the point. Fenn wiped it away and renewed the frost with a dull look in his eyes.

~ § ~ § ~ § ~

“Pigwidgeon, pay me heed. You are caught in nightmare. Allow me to disperse this dream at once!”

Fenn was faintly aware of a flash of four livid crimson eyes and a scaled hand outstretched for him. He seemed to be falling, falling, falling into a dark void. Chained shackles still seared his wrists and ankles -- or was that just a lingering impression from the previous memories?

“Pigwidgeon!”

He almost reached for the hand.

Yet.

He hesitated.

The chains yanked him down into the dark.

Raster stared at the sword that had skewered his chest just betwixt his ribcage. It was an odd expression, his eyes wide and glazed over, as if he couldn't quite believe that death had dropped in for a visit.

A scream that would never be heard rattled around in Fenn’s chest, battering itself against his ribs like a caged bird. His throat caught. Hot tears leaked from his eyes and froze cold to his cheeks. All he could do was stand paralyzed in fear as Raster fell to his knees with a pained gasp. The coin pouch fell from his hands and clattered to the cobblestones below.

In the span of a heartbeat, the Drakari bent to grab the pouch and slid Raster off of the blade, sending the thief sprawled to the ground in a trembling heap.

The marketplace itself was silent with shock as Raster collapsed. A woman fainted over her fruit stand. “Apologies for my reflexes,” the Drakari murmured neutrally, her strong accent carrying across the street. Fenn’s breath came to his in aching bursts as she casually wiped her blade clean on a handkerchief pulled from her pocket. She turned to the merchant with a mild concern. “I forget that your kind lacks scales that lessen the bit of a blade. Death will stay this thief’s hands -- is that how you normally deal with them in this country?”

~ § ~ § ~ § ~

“Pigwidgeon!”

~ § ~ § ~ § ~

He found himself stepping forth from the shadows without even meaning to. Suddenly, Fenn's form shimmered and vanished in a whirl of freezing magics, a Glamour creeping over his skin and replacing his visage with something else entirely.

“BEAST ON THE LOOSE!” someone shouted, and a chorus of screams rang through the marketplace.

Fenn charged directly for Raster, and ducked out of the way with a yelp of surprise, just barely brushing past the illusion without going through it, luckily for Fenn. The Dheathain merchants abandoned their goods in fright, valuing their lives above their money. Their hired Drakari muscle shrugged and followed after them. They weren’t paid to slay deadly beasts of burden.

The harecat illusion stomped around and rounded, soundlessly snarling, on anyone who got anywhere near the dying thief. By the time his Glamour failed him, the streets were nearly empty, with only a few quivering citizens hiding in the shadows of their front doors hanging around. Fenn gasped as his illusion finally fell apart, flickering rapidly before it completely disintegrated in a burst of snowflakes.

Exhausted, the boy fell to his knees next to Raster, staring at the gaping stab wound through his friend’s stomach. The cherry red blood pooling on the cobblestones frightened him, and Fenn wanted nothing more than to force it back into Raster, to rewind this day until his friend was safe and unhurt again. The little Fae’s cheeks were iced over with his tears as he wrapped his arms tightly around his father’s shoulders.

Raster moaned and gave Fenn a forlorn look. He struggled to sit up, returning Fenn's hug. “I told you to stay hidden, lil’ bud,” he choked out, his strength failing him. A little blood dribbled out of his mouth. “They’re gonna come back for their stuff. They might hurt you. You gotta leave… Please.”

Fenn shook his head in angry disbelief. His gaze hardened, and he moved to grab Raster under his arms, struggling to drag him away. The streets were frighteningly silent.

“Fenn, buddy, I ain’t makin’ it back home. It went through my spine, I think, and heavens know what else. Go back, go tell the others... what happened.”

~ § ~ § ~ § ~

“BY HAIL AND FROSTFIRE, FENNIK GLENWEY, YOU WILL PAY ME HEED.”

As if he was a yoyo on a fraying string, the shackles around his raw wrists snapped.

Fenn landed on a solid ground, gasping and coughing for air. There was a bit of spittle clinging to his lips. When he wiped it off, he realized it was tinged grey-black; maybe with blood. Maybe it didn’t matter why it was black, because this was a dream he knew now, and those could do…

...was he still in Forstford?

It took a moment of hard staring for Fenn to comprehend what he was looking at. No, this wasn't the real Forstford. Where he found himself now was a crude caricature of the trader town, featureless brick houses and broken stalls erected like a wall around the street. There a lifeless, still quality to the world, much as a pencil sketch or a chalk drawing might hold. The crowd had vanished. Raster had vanished. It was only him now, kneeling on all fours on the bland cobblestone.

Briskly, strong hands picked him up from behind, lifting him onto his feet. Dazed, he turned to see his current company. As expected, it was Barion who stared down at him. Both her faces twisted in bitten-back rage. “You have some explaining to do, my pigwidgeon,” she spat.

If he wasn’t so drained, Fenn might have offered her a biting answer. Instead, he collapsed on the fakey-fake chalk road, coughing on colorful dust. <What am I supposed to be explaining?> he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“The nightmares. Do you have these dreams often?”

Hissssss. Weakly pushing her hands away, Fenn folded his arms together and shrank into himself. He didn’t much like this line of questioning. He liked to forget that these dreams happened altogether. There was a buzz in his head like the drone of a thousand snowstorms. Anger beat steadily through the boy's veins, ice water in his black blood. No-one had done anything after Raster’s death; nothing except lock their doors and look away. No-one in that damned apathetic town had it in them to step forward and say something about the man bleeding out on the street right before everyone’s eyes. No, Fenn didn’t miss Forstford much. He wasn’t sure if he missed Amari. His feelings for her were fucked straight all over the place.

Why was he even thinking about it? He shouldn’t even think about it. This was stupid. He clasped his hands over his ears, paralyzed as he wished this would just… fade away.

Banrion tapped her foot impatiently. Her left head spoke in clipped tones, as her right diverted its gaze. “Fennik, you are not paying me your full attention. Do you have no answer for me?”

A a slightly resentful shrug was all he had to offer.

Banrion’s eyes narrowed astutely as she took in his stiffness. “Then I take it you have them more often than you would like.”

<Maybe,> he said reluctantly. <It’s fine, though. It’s all fine.>

The Chancellor’s gaze flicked down to Fenn’s raw wrists, which the boy hastily folded under the sleeves of his cloak. “Are they of only of your… deceased strongly-bonded human paternal figure and she of red?”

He flinched and pulled the cowl of his cloak over his head. All he wanted to do was disappear, to melt between the stones like spring snow. <Do I have to talk?>

Her right head’s eyes wandered back to meet his. “You are my herald,” the right explained patiently. “Your wellbeing is of great importance to me. Tell me what you can, please.”

Shaking his head insistently, Fenn turned away. <Doesn't matter. I wake up and mostly forget I had them again. It’s fine.> The realization that he always, always remembered dreams with Banrion in them struck. Fuck. Well, he’d just have to extra-distract himself when he woke up this time.

A thievery spree might be sufficient. Food too. Food was good.

“Pigwidgeon, that is not fine. What that woman did to you is not fine, and what happened to your parental figure is not fine. These nightmares you had today are new memory to me.” The right flashed bared teeth, but only for a regretful instant. “I am surprised by how much you resisted us changing the course of this dream. How used to this are you?”

<What’s it to you?> he shot back.

“I had no idea that you had experienced such a deep loss. I have weathered my share of sorrows too.”

<I don’t need your help with this,> he said, forcing himself back to his feet. The icy-hot anger was back, a thick clot in his chest. He wasn’t sure why. He was, however, pretty sure that it wasn’t going to be patted away by meddling, maternal hands. <No help. I’m not a child — I’m not your child!>

“But you are a child!” the left head snarled, causing the right to wince. “You are a child in many ways. You mistake chronology — human chronology nonetheless — for maturity. And if you are going to claim otherwise, then do not be so frustratingly petulant. Act it, then! Without the baseless claims of adulthood!”

He stopped and stared blankly at her. What was the point of that? What was even the point of trying to look adult when inevitably the next person would come along and treat him like some small kitten again? That was how it was. <I take care of myself. Isn’t that enough?>

“How well do you do it?” the right prodded gently.

<How well do you?>

Banrion’s mane hackled, and both heads drew up indignantly. He could sense her patience becoming short. At once, he felt glad at the thought that she might leave him be — and a twinge of guilt for wanting her to leave.

<Don’t need to talk.> His thoughts were tangled together. <Talking’s not my thing. Fae… we’re weird. We live really long lives, don’t we? I’ve thought about it a little. Everything that happens? All the bad shit? I’ll live another thirty years, and, and, it’ll all seem so far away, and I’ll forget what scared me in the first place. Why would I talk about it when I can forget it more and keep going?>

“You may find that time alone does not heal all wounds,” she replied simply.

Shrug.

Barion’s heads drew up, gazing down at Fenn with a sheer coldness that made his stomach turn. Her hands wrung together in vexed knots. “Reject my help then. Do as you will. In any case, this dream has harrowed you. I shall leave you to your rest now.” Two sighs dripped from her lips. To Fenn, she seemed very old in this moment. There was something about the turn of her jowls that did it. Wrinkled, withered. “Sleep well.”

<Night,> he directed quietly.

“Merry part,” she murmured, and faded away into nothing.

Fenn’s eyes turned up to the blank sky. A soft, warm drizzle replaced his Chancellor’s presence. The ugly scene of Forstford slowly melted away, muddling together like the chalk drawings they were. Fenn, a speck of frost amid the downpour, melted too. He closed his eyes as he became one with the endless water for a moment -- in body and in mind. Featureless, fuzzy, comforting.

Quote:

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WEEKS AND WEEKS LATER

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Weeks passed before Fenn’s next dream of clarity. He stood in a blank, colorless vacuum.

By colorless, the puck meant colorless. If asked, he could no more describe its hue than he could describe how air tastes. There was evidently some surface that he was standing on. It was smooth against his bare feet, yet invisible to the eye. Already, he was unnerved. This was not a reassuring backdrop. All the same, his pulse quickened, ears twitching eagerly. He hadn’t seen Banrion since the nightmare. He was starting to feel… abandoned? It wouldn’t be the first time, but...

<Banri?> he called out tentatively into the void.

“I am not she, outsider child.”

A squeak of surprise strangled in Fenn’s throat. He rounded about to face the speaker. Standing with feline grace amid the grey was a proud, sinewy beast, decorated with bits of rope, beads, and bone. Under his featureless wooden mask, his doggish face was devoid of visible emotion. All five of his reddish eyes bored into the boy.

<Oh! You,> Fenn directed, his heart beating fast. <Chulainn, right?>

For a moment, he wondered if this was just his mind playing tricks on him again -- that it was making up things. But no, the dream had the same curious clarity it always gained when Banrion was paying him a visit. Chulainn was here for real.

“Ceannaire Chulainn,” the beast corrected in his deep voice.

<Right,> Fenn said, a bite to his words. <Why are you here? You’re not supposed to be in my dreams. Where’s Banrion?> Clenched hands, flattened ears, tight stance -- the little fae admitted that he was not happy to find another in her place.

Chulainn must have picked up on the boy’s hostility. The Chancellor’s adornments clattered as he shook his head, tail flicking in amusement. “Worry not, for your Ceannaire is perfectly fine. She merely left her malachite charm on her desk, which I found when attempting to find and speak with her in person.” He gave off a few sharp, barking chuckles. “She is always in motion these days. Doing, organizing, reading, thinking. Usurping our duties, even. It pleases Regent Morrighna little. In any case, may I leave you with my message for her?”

In a moment of thorny silence, Fenn considered it. Finally, he nodded. <Why not? She’s mad at me, so it might be a bit before she gets it.>

Chulainn arched his back and stretched, pacing around the fae child with a certain thoughtfulness glittering in his five eyes. “Perhaps not. I have a feeling that she needs you too much. Servants have a habit of doing our dirtiest deeds. Tell my younger Ceannaire that I have seen the rise and fall of many a ruler. If I am to understand her intentions, she is merely the next loop in the cycle, no different from Morrighna nor Saroe.”

Fenn frowned, crossing his arms together as if it would hide his nervousness. He wasn’t sure if Chulainn was making a threat or stating an inevitability. Neither seemed good. <Okay then… who’s Saroe though?>

The Chancellor stopped, and stared. “You do not know this name?”

An unease settled in Fenn’s gut. He shook his head. <Nope. Why should I?>

“I suppose I am not surprised that she neglected to tell you of Regent Saroe. Ceannaire Banrion is a private woman. What burdens she bears, she does so alone.” Chulainn blinked and tilted his head. “Saroe is her story to tell. Speak to her of it later, when you deliver her my message. My dreams hear thunder on the horizon. Thunder, and the cries of battle.”

The boy whipped around, his ears twitching, as the Chancellor slunk behind him. <What’re you saying? What’s your role in this? Why battle?>

“My role is nothing. I neither give nor take. I observe and wait. Others wiser than I have fallen to our petty squabbles. As for the battle cries, I do not know,” the houndish fae said enigmatically, “but your Ceannaire may. Merry part, young herald.”

The Chancellor flickered and vanished from the void.

Fenn held up a halting hand as soon as the anticipated dark cracks began to spread across the vacant dreamscape. The ground to a brief halt. For once, he managed to hold on to his lucidity a few moments. It was him alone with his thoughts. Time trickled past him as he thought about Chulainn’s words. Banrion, Saroe, battle, cycle… gah. All he was left with were more questions than he could remember to seek out the answers to. So, not too different from talking to Banrion herself.

Sigh. Fenn let go, and the dream shattered all at once.

Quote:

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I MET NEVIN BEFORE THIS

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Fenn, for lack of a better word, “woke up” into this dream. A scent floral and spicy-sweet permeated the air. Lying on a cool surface, he stared up at forest-green skies, smooth and silky barring the two moons overhead.

When he sat up, he found himself on a balcony of ice. Silver flowers curled up the railing.

The serpent-headed Chancellor hunched over the balcony railing, her back to him, mane swaying in the breeze. Moths flittered around her and the flowers like snippets of brown cloth. This place could have been something out of his mind, it could have been something out of her memories. Fenn didn’t ask.

<Banri?>

“Pigwidgeon,” she returned with a glance backward and despondent nods.

Tentatively, Fenn walked over to stand beside her. <Are you still mad at me?>

“Frustrated perhaps. But, let us consider our argument behind us for now. If you wish to deal with such matters on your own, so be it.” She sighed. “Now then. Is it merely my personal perception, or is that still a distinctly guilty frown you wear?”

He stretched, stood up, and shuffled over to lean on the railing next to her. <Sorry. Chulainn visited me in my dreams yesterday.>

Her necks drew back in surprise. “What?”

<You left your…> Lost for the exact term, Fenn pointed to the green stone pendant slung around her wrist on a silver chain. Banrion grimaced and clasped it tightly to her breast. <Your swan-gooey dream-bracelet thing unattended. He talked to me, stuff like how you were just another loop in some cycle or something.> Fenn paused and tapped his chin, attempting to recall the rest of the conversation. <Can I ask about Saroe? Who she is.>

The elder fae’s faces creased with grief as soon as he spoke the name. She turned away with her hands clawed around the railing, unsuccessful in hiding a furious snarl. “Was. I told you of her before. Our previous Regent. Before Morrighna. The one Morrighna offed so damn cleverly,” she explained. Her figure, typically regal and composed, stood as stiffly as a bale of straw.

<You knew her.>

“Of course I knew her,” Banrion said through a starlit snap of her teeth. Fenn started and took a step back. “And it was not his business to discuss her with you! Regent Saroe worked with me very closely when I was still the youngest Chancellor, much as I must work with Morrighna these days. Except, unlike Morrighna…”

Fenn hovered thoughtfully a moment, and then, leaned back in. He felt a bit sorry to press the issue, but his curiosity was burning a hole in him. <Except..?>

Her hands tightened around the rail. A cold fire danced behind her eyes. “I might as well give you the rest of the story. Lest, you seek it from mouths that know it less truly. Saroe, I loved. More than I’ll ever love again. When she died, it was as if a fog had descended over me. Things which once brought me joy made me feel nothing. I echoed within, hollow, empty, as if something inside me had perished alongside her. At times, I wondered whether -- nay, hoped -- the heartache alone would strike me dead too. Captive was I then. Captive still to memory…”

<Oh,> Fenn said quietly. His face fell as he reached all the way up to pat her on the arm.

The Chancellor’s expression softened at his touch. “My apologies, again, for yelling at you the other day,” she rasped. “You felt similarly when your human paternal figure died, I would wager?”

Fenn nodded, staunchly ignoring the slight angry flutter of his heart. <Sorry too. Do you have nightmares about..?>

She shook her head. “Her death? The grief? No. I don’t have nightmares these days, pigwidgeon. Soon enough, nightmares will have me,” she said dryly, clasping her hands together. “On their own, one gets over these feelings eventually, but, only so much. Fenn... there is another matter I need to speak to you of.” Double murmurs of satisfaction escaped the reptilian Fae, and she stared out at the silver landscape thoughtfully. “You are adequately enough versed in the plantlife of Althanas, or else you have the resources to come up with what I require regardless. I know that much from observing your travels. I require a task of you, a boon.”

<What task?>

“It has to do with these plans of mine that you want to know more of so badly. What are the most potent Althanian poisons you know of?” she asked, lips settling into peaceful grins. “Ones that shall work against a fae?”

That wasn’t quite the turn of conversation Fenn had been expecting. He gawped, a slight sputtering squeak escaping him. <Poisons?>

Banrion nodded, both faces still half smiling at him. “You heard me correctly. Our fair Regent is in dire need of a... how to put this? A humbling. I know you have a reliable knowledge of the plants of your native land; a foreign poison would be incredibly difficult for our physicians to detect, which would make the task far easier to get away with. My regrets if this goes too far beyond your personal sensibilities,” she murmured, right head in her hands, the left staring at him with that clamped fire dancing in her eyes.

Fenn paused, staring out across the balcony. <Um, well, sure. It’s fine. I know an alchemist,> he thought, his inner voice timid, yet sure. <He might have something.>

“Thank you.” Banrion tilted her heads awkwardly. “I… did not expect you to go along with this plan so willingly.”

<Aside from that time she tried to execute me, she made you hurt, and she killed a person you loved,> he ticked off on his fingers. <That makes her worse that Kelpie that hurt Daugi. I think.>

“You are aware that Morrighna is more sapient than a Kelpie?” the Chancellor noted reluctantly.

He frowned. <Makes her all the more an ass, doesn’t it?>

A moth fluttered down to land on the railing between the two. They stopped to watch it. The creature waggled its antennae and skittered past the Chancellor. She let out her breath. “If that is how you must rationalize this, so be it. I am glad you have taken my side with this. Gather a potent, well-disguised poison,” Banrion mused, plans already taking shape in her mind, “and we will discuss this further...”

Thread Title: Kindred Folk -- Idle Dreamings
Judgment Type: No Judgment

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